Rebound: Chapter 31

“So, what shall we dance to?” the red-haired woman standing opposite me asks. “A bit of Backstreet Boys? Some old school disco? Oh, I know, I know.”

She leaps to her feet, fingers flying over her phone, then grins at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “I love Madagascar, don’t you?”

I’m pretty damn confused by this point, but I recognize the song as soon as it kicks on—“I Like to Move It” by Reel to Real. It’s a terrific song to dance to, but it’s really not what I expected at an interview. I was told it would be informal, but this is more of an impromptu party. “Shawn!” she hollers, her voice piercing even over the beat of the music. “Can you make this louder?”

A blond-haired boy of ten or eleven looks up at her from his corner of the room. It’s a big space, like a school gym, with various activities going on around us. He nods and takes the phone over to a sound system, and within seconds, the track is blasting from speakers positioned around the room. “Come on, let’s get jiggy,” yells Sissie, gesturing for everyone to join in. I can’t help smiling as children of all ages, shapes, and sizes run to the center of the floor and begin getting extremely jiggy.

She’s in the middle of it all, her long red hair flowing, her Crocs stamping the floor as she moves. Nobody seems to have any inhibitions at all, and I decide that I won’t have any either. Before long, I’m lost to the joy of dancing. Children swirl and jump all around me, and some offer their hands up for me to hold. I laugh and twirl them around, and for the chorus, I put together a small routine that involves a little shaking of the tail feathers. They all copy me, and when the next song turns out to be the “Cha-Cha Slide,” I lead them in an energetic line dance. So what if some of them don’t know their left from their right—including Sissie. It’s a lot of fun, and we’re all laughing as the music fades. Shawn, the gangly youth with the technical skills, comes over to offer me a high five before going back to his corner. He’s got a large stack of schoolbooks and pencils scattered on the floor.

“He’s talented,” I say, nodding in his direction. “He can really dance.”

“Shawn? Yeah. He’s a great kid. Nice mom, too. She just doesn’t have enough of herself to go round, working three jobs to support the family. The dad is long gone, and from the sound of it, good riddance. Shawn really enjoyed the dance classes Esther ran. She always said he had raw talent. ”

Esther, I have gathered, was something of a legend around these parts. In her eighties, she was still doing the splits at her going-away party. She retired to Florida, where she’s apparently teaching her new community a thing or two about the can-can. I have no idea how I could possibly fill such boots.

“Well, Amber, if you’re interested, you’re welcome to join us here. Assuming you know what you’re getting into.”

“What?” I follow her out into a quieter part of the building. “But we haven’t really talked …”

She makes a “pah!” kind of noise and waves her hand. “I’m a big believer in instinct, and my instincts say you’ll do great here. The kids clearly like you. You know what you’re doing on the dance floor, and even though I could tell you were uncomfortable, you joined in anyway. That tells me you’ve got balls. So, balls plus ability plus gumption …” Sissie gives a decisive nod. “You’ll do just fine.”

“Gumption?” I repeat, smiling. “Isn’t that the kind of thing Calamity Jane had?”

“Yep, and you need it around here, believe me.”

“Okay. I have it. Gumption is my middle name. Sign me up.”

She laughs at my enthusiasm, and I grin back at her. I had high hopes, but I like it here even more than I expected. And Sissie is nothing at all like I expected. In my head, former nun translated to her being old and demure. But she’s maybe in her late forties and is an absolute firecracker. Short, buxom, and extremely pretty in a wholesome, no-makeup way, Sissie—formerly Sister Bridget—is obviously a woman who wades in wherever she’s needed and gets things done. She’s the perfect role model for me in this new chapter of my life.

“You do know that I don’t have any qualifications, right?” I want to do this so badly, and I don’t want any more disappointments. “Well, apart from a useless college degree.”

“No such thing as useless. I’m sure you picked up something valuable from it.”

Yeah, I think as she leads us to a seating area by the windows. My husband, and not much else. We sit surrounded by battered metal lockers and walls covered in beautiful graffiti art.

“I know you’re not an experienced teacher, Amber, but most of the people here don’t have formal qualifications. We care more about commitment. If you do want training, we have a small budget and could maybe find you some courses to take.”

“If there are any courses that would help me add value, I would love to take them, but I’ll handle the costs. Has Vicky told you much about me?”

She tilts her head to one side. “A little. Nothing too personal, don’t worry. She’s held true to the Cleaners’ Code.”

“There’s a Cleaners’ Code?”

Sissie laughs. “No idea, but Vicky isn’t a gossip. I do know that your background is a world away from this place. She swears you are good people, and I believe her, but I suppose I do need to ask—are you sure about this? Like I said, I’d love to get you involved, but I don’t want this to be something you’re doing as some kind of experiment with slumming it, you know? I don’t want the kids to get used to you just in time for you to disappear back to your Manhattan mansion. No offense.”

I nod and look through the windows. The community garden is out there, and it’s obvious how gorgeous it will be come spring. They’re growing fruits and vegetables for the neighborhood, and they even have a small apiary.

“That’s a fair question, Sissie, and no offense taken. I do actually have a Manhattan mansion, but I swapped it for a two-bedroom in Brooklyn. My husband and I are getting a divorce, and I … I couldn’t stand that life anymore. Money buys security, and security is necessary, and I know I’m coming from a place of privilege when I say this—but wealth truly doesn’t bring happiness. I’m deeply grateful for the fact that I’ve never worried about paying for groceries. But I have experienced very little joy in my life. I need joy, Sissie, and I’m making changes that allow me to find it.”

“Good for you, Amber.” She nods, looking interested and, dare I say, impressed. “Is there any concern about your husband causing trouble? Divorces can get ugly, and it won’t disqualify you, but we need to know what we’re dealing with so we can handle it.”

“God, no. He’s … He’s great, in so many ways. You definitely don’t have to worry about him causing trouble. Truthfully, I still love the man. But it isn’t working, and I don’t think it ever will. I’ve reached the stage where I need to accept that and start to build a life that doesn’t have him at the center of it.”

I feel terrible as I say those words, like I’m somehow betraying him. But their truth is evident in the way I’ve blossomed since I began centering myself. Who knows how things will play out between us in the future or if we will ever get our shit together.

Whatever happens, I need to have my own life. I need to be the leading lady of my own story, not just play a supporting role in his. Dancing in a community center with a load of kids and a slightly eccentric former nun was liberating—because it had nothing at all to do with my former life.

“You’re recreating yourself,” she says. “Phoenix, ashes, all that shit. I get it. I did it myself. Well, okay, if you want in, you’re in. But before you decide for sure, did Vicky mention the uh, guys who help us?”

“She said something about bikers?”

She chews the inside of her cheek. “So, there are a lot of great people in this neighborhood. The vast majority are decent and hardworking. Normal folks. But there are also problems, bad elements. They harass the neighborhood kids, try to encourage them to get involved in stuff they shouldn’t. You know what I mean? We try to offer them an alternative. Shawn’s a good example. He’s a smart boy, and his mom has been working her ass off to keep him on the right path—but he’s also cute and fast and would be an asset.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m sorry to sound naive, but what use could he be to them?”

“Kids like Shawn are useful to some of the less law-abiding folk around these parts. Looking innocent goes a long way. They’re also expendable.”

I blanch at the idea of any child being expendable to anyone, but I’m not so naive as to believe Sissie is exaggerating. “That’s where the bikers come in. Informal security. They help us keep this place nice and friendly. Other than the boxing and wrestling classes. And the baking contests.” She laughs. “Those can get pretty hairy.”

I’d be lying if I said I don’t have a moment of doubt. Not fear exactly, because this seems like a safe place, but more of a concern that I truly don’t belong in this world. Never have I considered myself a snob, but I’ve been accused of it enough times that I can’t pretend like the shoe doesn’t fit at all.

What if I’m as vapid as Elijah’s brothers think I am and I let these kids down by not being able to ignore the siren call of high society, designer shoes, and exclusive dinner reservations? No. That’s not possible. I’ve felt more joy since I moved out of Manhattan and walked away from that life than I have felt in the previous ten years combined.

“Tell me about the bikers,” I say.

“Well, they’re called Misfits MC—motorcycle club in case you hadn’t figured it out—and the clue is kind of in the name. Most MCs are made up of pretty stereotypical macho dudes with big bikes and small dicks.”

I laugh at her choice of words, and she winks at me. “These guys are different.”

“They have small bikes and big dicks?”

“The bikes are plenty big, and I cannot comment on the dicks. But they’re from all over, you know? Different types of people from different backgrounds. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Rafael is in charge. He’s Salvadoran. He ended up here after doing a stretch in Rikers for smashing someone’s head in for kicking their dog.”

“I like him already.”

“He’s easy to like. Not all of them are. They’re all tough men who’ve had hard lives. They’re like a family—a really fucked-up family. They’re around a lot, and your paths will cross, which is why I’m telling you all of this. They’re our protectors. They have enough muscle and enough crazy that even the gangs are wary of them. They help us keep this place safe.”

I try to imagine their world—the one these kids live in, where they need bikers to keep them safe from gangs—but I can’t. All I can do is try to add something positive to it. “Here’s Rafael now,” she says, nodding at the window. The throaty roar of an engine is followed by a massive motorcycle pulling up outside the building. “I told him you were coming, and he wanted to meet you. Don’t try to get him to dance, okay?”

I laugh, but my mind immediately goes back to that night in the studio with Elijah. The way he tried to match my warm-up, even after he pulled a muscle in his back. The way he held me in that lift, so strong and reliable and so damn hot. The amazing sex afterward …

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

But I can’t help wondering what he’s up to right now. I’m worried he might do something reckless about Freddie and get himself into trouble. Deciding I’ll call him as soon as I’m done here, I put him out of my mind.

The giant of a man switches off the bike’s engine and meets my eyes through the glass. He nods once in acknowledgment, and I nod back, admiring the graceful way he dismounts and strides toward the building with his helmet under his arm, all muscle and tattoos. He wears a black tank underneath his leathers, and every inch of visible skin is inked, right up to his throat. His intimidating appearance is offset only slightly by a classically handsome face—square jaw, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes. His mouth is wide and his lips full, and they quirk at the corners when he steps into the room and greets Sissie. I’m guessing that’s this man’s version of a full-on grin.

“Mrs. James,” he says, his voice deep and surprisingly quiet, a hint of an accent I can’t place coming through. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Rafael Reyes.” He tugs off a leather glove and offers me a meaty hand to shake. It completely engulfs mine, and his fingers are covered in tattoos.

“Did that hurt?” I ask, staring the elaborate designs swirling between his knuckles.

“Like a motherfucker,” he replies, half smiling. He lets go of my hand and quirks one eyebrow at Sissie.

“As you can see, Amber, Rafael here is not a big talker. That eyebrow just asked me what I’ve decided about you, whether you’ll be joining our merry little team here. And yes, Rafael, she will be—assuming that is what she wants?”

They both turn to look at me, and I feel the weight of their gazes. They both seem like tremendous people in their own way, albeit completely outside my entire sphere of experience. But they give off nothing but positive energy, and I know that this is what I want. I wasn’t lying when I said I need joy, and I can find that here. I can make a difference here in a way that has nothing to do with money or the family I married into.

“I’d love to join you,” I say. “And I promise I’ll do my very best.”

Rafael nods once. “That’s all we can ask, ma’am.”